


Orange

by Matarra



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Donut's Not Actually Dead, Fluff, Gen, Locus on the Red Team, Mentions of Donut "Dying"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 20:41:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matarra/pseuds/Matarra
Summary: For a RvB Fluff week prompt! Locus and Sarge argue over who had to deal with a worse orange teammate while packing up Donut's stuff after he "died".





	Orange

Locus ran his fingers along the spines of the books in a bookcase in Donut’s room. There were some classics, some cookbooks, a few magazines, but overall nothing Locus found exceptionally fascinating.

“Can’t believe he’s gone,” Sarge muttered from across the room, looking through Donut’s closet.

“You know he’s probably not dead, right?” Locus asked in a dull voice.

“We all saw him get blown up, then eaten by that carnivorous plant, then saw it explode!” Sarge cried.

“Take it from someone who tried to kill you people, he’s not dead,” Locus deadpanned. “Besides, haven’t you seen him almost die repeatedly?”

“But this time, he’s really dead. Ten-four, good buddy!” Sarge said as he folded up one of Donut’s casual civilian shirts and put it in a box.

“I will bet you twenty bucks he’s alive,” Locus said as he carefully began taking books off the shelf and into another cardboard box.

“Done! Sucker,” Sarge said as he reached into the closet once again. Without his helmet on, Locus could see Sarge’s face twist into an expression of disgust. “Ugh, it’s spreading!”

“What?” Locus asked, not even concerned. Had Sarge made that exclamation a few weeks ago, he would’ve been on high alert with his gun pointed at the closet, but at this point, he barely registered any level of concern. After being on Red Team for almost a month now, he was more than used to their eccentricities.

Sarge pulled out an orange, collared shirt on a clothes hanger and stormed over to shove it in Locus’s face, who promptly recoiled, more out of shock than anything else. “The orange plague! It spread to Donut! Poor soldier, he must’ve been in such agony before he died, to turn to wearing orange on his days off!”

Locus frowned as the color brought back unpleasant memories of a certain gray and orange mercenary, but just sighed and went back to packing up the (totally not) deceased Donut’s stuff. “Don’t get bent out of shape just because Donut has one orange shirt. Honestly, the only reason I’m surprised he has that is because it’s too much of an ‘autumn’ color and doesn’t match his eyes.” As Sarge stared at him, he hastily backtracked. “I- it’s his words, not mine.”

“But what if he was turning into another Grif?” Sarge demanded.

“It’s Donut. _Donut._ ” Locus stressed the last word. “He once screamed because he saw a moldy sandwich in Grif’s bedroom that Grif had left lying out. I thought we were under attack. Besides, Grif’s not the worst orange soldier in the history of the universe to be like.”

“Insubordination!” Sarge exclaimed. “Have you met Grif? Who could possibly be worse?”

“He had a scout helmet, was a manipulative psychopath who tried to commit planetary genocide, and would stab you with a knife if you added ‘the cat’ after his name,” Locus deadpanned.

“Felix? Please! He would actually do something! Granted, everything he ever did was barbaric, but I bet he never skimped out on cleaning the base or gathering intel on the enemy!” Sarge argued.

“No, but he always made me do all the cooking,” Locus retorted. “‘Locus, I’m hungry! Locus, I want some ribs! Locus, can you bake a cake? Locus, go make some waffles! Locus, I’m really craving some chocolate chip cookies, can you make me some? I don’t care if we don’t have any chocolate chips, go get some!’” mocked Locus, letting out some pent-up aggression against his late partner.

“At least he didn’t eat all your food! Have you seen how much Grif eats in a day?” Sarge retorted.

“At least Grif never has ‘booty calls’ that keep you up all hours of the night,” Locus replied.

“I bet Felix never back-sassed you as much as Grif does to me!” Sarge cried.

“He whined and yelled at me all the time,” Locus said.

“I said ‘as much,’” Sarge clarified.

“Grif never tried to murder an entire planet,” Locus pointed out.

“Felix never did CPR for a head wound!” Sarge retorted.

“Do you have any concept of how different those two things are?” Locus asked.

“Felix is dead, Grif is alive. Therefore, he’s worse,” Sarge said.

“I changed my mind, forget the twenty bucks; if Donut’s alive, you concede that I’m right,” Locus said.

“And if he’s not, you admit that I’m right!” Sarge bargained.

“Deal.”

“You’re still wrong, regardless,” Sarge added.

Locus rolled his eyes. “Really?” he asked in a disbelieving voice.

“Grif never does his work!”

“Felix was reckless and never listened to common sense!”

“Grif always forgets the ammo!”

“Felix was always overconfident and I had to babysit him constantly in the middle of battle!”

“I have to yell at Grif constantly to get him to do anything!”

“I had to be ninety-percent of Felix’s self-control!”

“Grif is lazy!”

“Felix was violent!”

“Grif is a slob!”

“Felix was a neat-freak!”

“Grif is insubordinate!”

“Felix was willing to kill all his subordinates!”

“Guys, you’re already packing up my stuff? Come on, too soon!” The two stopped arguing as they heard a familiar chipper voice from the doorway. They turned to see Donut, with his armor heavily damaged and his helmet missing, standing in the doorway, frowning slightly in that vaguely disapproving way he often did when Red Team did something ridiculous, when a normal person would just start yelling at them.

Locus glanced over at Sarge and couldn’t help but smirk. “I win.”

Sarge just narrowed his eyes and glared at him. “I am never admitting it.”

“What?” Donut asked, looking thoroughly confused.

“Nevermind.” Locus waved it off, pushing bitter memories of Felix to the back of his mind. “I’ll help you put your stuff back. We should probably let Simmons and Grif know you’re alive.”

“Oh! Right!” Donut exclaimed. He leaned around the doorway and shouted, “I’m alive, guys!”

“You owe me fifty bucks, Grif!” Simmons yelled.

Locus and Sarge looked at each other in shock, then smiled at each other.

“Come on, you two need to help me reorganize my exotic oils collection! You messed it all up!” Donut fretted, walking back in. Locus watched the pink(or lightish-red) soldier for a second, then started unpacking the bottles from a box on the floor. One in particular, however, caught his eye.

“What on earth is ‘headlight fluid’?”

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I'm not exactly the most creative person when it comes to titles.


End file.
